Chapter Text
PROLOUGE
“I quit!”
Stanford watched as his one and only friend and lab assistant walked out of the lab, shaky and scarred. He couldn't believe this. Fiddleford was the first man to go interdimensional, and he’s throwing it all away! He’s quitting right here, after everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve accomplished!
“Fine then! Leave! I don’t need you! I don't need anyone!” Ford couldn't help but hear someone else in his words. He’s heard that phrase before… Stanley.
Once Fiddleford was actually gone- once it was actually real- Ford decided to confront the one person he had left- his muse. Luckily, Ford was pretty exhausted, so falling asleep wasn't so hard for him. It was what to do in the mindscape that was difficult.
The brunette woke back up in the familiar place of his mind, an endless galaxy with books and scrolls floating about. He ran up some journals, accusatory.
“What is this? What is inside of the portal? What did you do to F?” Ford yelled, stopping straight in his tracks once he saw the familiar yellow triangle. His back was turned to the scientist, a rip in the galaxy was shown, monsters of unimaginable horror lay in the window, staring right back at his muse- his friend.
“THE DOOR HAS BEEN OPENED. THE PARTY IS GETTING STARTED!”
No. What has he done? Ford was so horrified and guilt-ridden that he awoke almost immediately. He had to shut off the portal.
Whatever Fiddleford saw in there was enough to drive him away from the project- he should’ve listened.
Ford decided to hide his journals. If no one could find the instructions, no one could make the same stupid mistake. He hid the first two in the forest, both in secret compartments hidden by tree branches and grass. Only one left. He couldn't keep it in Gravity Falls with the rest, if someone found two, they could certainly find three. He had to hide the first journal somewhere else… Somewhere far away…
The brunette looked at himself in the reflection of his life’s work, his biggest mistake. Who could he trust?
Of course.
Ford sent a postcard. This was his only hope, everything was riding on this.
—----------------------------------------------------
Stan wasn’t having a good time.
He had been living in his car for ten years now, alone. He has undergone over thirty different personas, and was banned in almost every state in the US and was run out of Mexico. Stan didn’t know how much longer he could survive out here. He was running out of money. Stan Co. wasn't doing well at all, and he had major overstock.
Stan Had scraped together enough money to get a room in some motel. He needed a break, after all.
Rico and his goons are trying to track Stetson Pinefield down to either get their money, or kill him. Obviously, Stan wasn't too keen on this grand idea of his death, and money didnt grow on trees.
He turned on the TV
It was around these times that the brunette would wonder about his family, where they were today. His father would probably still be running the pawn shop, probably the same unimpressed expression on his face through the whole thing. His mother is probably still running the phones, predicting hang ups and such. Maybe she missed him? Maybe she was trying to find him? She was the only one that would. Her and…
Stan’s mindless scrolling through channels stopped, his own face staring back at him. No, it wasn't him. It was his brother. That traitor. He looked good, if not way too exhausted. He was being interviewed by some guy on a local channel. This was a rerun, who knew they reran news?
Ford was studying weirdness. That's a huge surprise. Stan could only roll his eyes and turn the channel off. Cash Wheel was better.
The only thought running through Stan’s mind was “How?” how could he be doing so much better, when Stan can only seem to do so much worse. Maybe this is how it was meant to be. Maybe the younger twin was supposed to be doing horribly, so that the older could succeed. Maybe he was dragging Ford down…
A knock played on the door.
“Go away Rico, I told you, I’ll pay your goons back tomorrow!” Stan rifled around for a bat, ready to defend himself.
A postcard slipped under the door. This was new.
Who would send him a postcard?
Stan got up and picked up the piece of cardstock, Gravity Falls. Never heard of that before.
Stan flipped the card over, he almost dropped it. The brunette froze, staring down at the card with wide eyes. The handwriting was unmistakable, and of course there was his brother’s name on it.
Ford wanted to see him.
He actually wanted to see him.
After all these years… Stan began to pack, throwing everything into his car. What could he want? Maybe he wants to catch up? Maybe he wants to finally take that boat trip? Maybe he wants to apologize. The possibilities were practically endless.
After a quick shower, (Sixer was a stickler for hygiene. He could at least try) Stan got in his car and sped off to find Gravity Falls, Oregon.